


Skinhead Moonstomp

by KirkyPet



Series: The Shipping Forecast [10]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: Gen, Inspired by Music, cultural adjustment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 01:18:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11498754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KirkyPet/pseuds/KirkyPet
Summary: How the Boys adjust after Joe’s demise: theology, philosophy, medicine and music. Kinda.





	Skinhead Moonstomp

Caleb always loved the moon. He knew that was wrong, it was the _S_ _un_ that War Boys should revere. The Immortan had touched the sun, after all, made it holy.  

He'd heard it whispered among the Greenthumbs that it was the sun that made the produce grow. That was heresy too, he knew. It was the Immortan who gave them everything they needed. But he wouldn't tell.  

Caleb liked to have things to think about, outside the day to day routine. He thought about the moon.  

He didn't care about touching the sun, even if he was offered the chance by the Immortan himself. It would _burn_.  

But he longed to reach out and touch the moon, in all its shiny splendour. It wouldn't hurt him. It was so chrome. He wondered what it did. What it was _for_.  

It must do _something_. The Immortan only tolerated things that were useful.  

You could navigate by it, but only if you weren't too particular about your destination. And the Wretched brought up from below say it makes people mad. Not kami-crazy, not fighting mad, not _useful_. Just a bit weird. 

Caleb wondered if _he_ was a bit weird.  

The moon didn't make him _mad_ , though. He was sure of that. It made him kinda happy. He saw Ace gaze up at it sometimes too, with an awestruck look on his face. He’d never seen him look at the Immortan like that. 

Caleb was glad Ace survived. Somehow, if he hadn't, Caleb thought he might not have come back to the Citadel at all. Just kept walking. Following the moon, probably, to see where it led him.   
   
But the V8 had spared them for better things, and had led them back here.  

 *****  

The New Citadel missed the Doof Warrior. 

Granted, they'd only heard his music when half of them were about to die, and that was _fine_ , but that sort of attitude was frowned upon these days. They were intended for better things than that, or so they'd been told. 

They'd entered a New Age, after all. The holy V8 had declared the Immortan Joe to be anything but. He was not a true god or, if he ever had been, his divinity had been snatched away by Imperator Furiosa and her new army.  

So now they would revere Immortan Furiosa, right? Logic. But the Imperator had taken great pains to stomp on that idea pretty quick. 

So why _wasn't_ Furiosa the new Immortan?  

 _Because_ , after the death of the Splendid One, the all-wise V8 had decided to _break up_ the divinity of the Immortan into millions of tiny fragments and scatter them over the whole world. But it would only settle on those who didn't treat people as things. 

It was a poser, but they were slowly getting the hang of it. 

There was a stubborn faction that couldn’t quite shake the idea that _someone_ had to be Immortan.  

If it wasn’t the Imperator, then it must be her Man. He was a Universal Donor. Didn’t he bring her back from the dead?Surely that meant he was some kind of Immortan? Not the kind they were used to, but still… 

Ace squashed this line of logic as promptly as possible. He certainly did _not_ want the Boys to get it into their heads that the feral was unkillable…though Ace wasn’t entirely sure about that, himself.  

He didn’t try to reason with them. He just warned them that he’d crack the skulls of anyone he suspected of spreading those kind of rumours. And that would be Valhalla compared with what the Boss would do to them if her Man got hurt. 

* 

Docker was just about the worst kind of Pup to keep in line. A cadet with an ‘enquiring mind’. He and his mate Vagrant couldn’t seem to put the idea down.  

Okay, they seemed to accept that Max wasn’t actually a god. Some people _were_ universal donors, apparently… 

But what about this raising from the dead thing? How did _that_ work? 

It all came to a head when Phyllis caught them sticking knives into dead bodies in the _Chapel of Rest_ , as they called it these days. They’d leave the dead in a quiet room for a day and a night so that their friends could visit them. And also to make sure they were _really dead_ , which Ace supposed was quite important when he came to think of it. 

This was a new thing to Ace…bodies went straight to the composter in Joe’s time…but even _he_ was shocked that two of his Boys had been caught ‘violating the dead’ as the healer put it. His mind boggled. What in the fuck had they been doing? 

Ace was relieved to find, however, that they’d merely been poking holes in rib cages...with no nefarious intentions. He was able to explain to the woman that the Boys were trying to bring the bodies back to life like Max had done with the Boss.  

After that, Docker and Vagrant were the healer’s regular assistants, keen to learn everything she could teach them. Including how stabbing someone _very carefully_ between the ribs can save someone with a collapsed lung, but will do less than nothing for a day-old corpse with a severed carotid. 

* 

And another thing…what made Max a _Man_ , while they were _Boys_? What was the difference really? A man was a grown-up boy, right? 

They were familiar with growing up…you were a Pup, then you were a Boy. So why were none of them _Men_? 

Was it because none of them lived long enough? Maybe. It hadn’t been much of a priority before now. You could say it had been frowned upon. 

But now the Women were encouraging them to _try_ to live longer. Properly.  

Look at Ace. Other Boys might ridicule him for being old. But wasn’t he the role model for them all, deep down? He’d learned stuff, _lots_ of stuff. He was the one they’d go to, the one who’d _know._ But though he’s a survivor, Ace was still a Boy, never claimed any different. 

Max wasn’t that old, but nobody called _him_ a boy but the two old women, and they were the oldest people the Boys had ever seen. The oldest full-lives anyway. Everyone was probably a boy to them. 

What was the difference between Ace and Max, then? The old Rig Crew sat late into the night to puzzle that one out. 

They were both survivors, there weren’t many years between them, they both wore the brand, they were both trusted implicitly by the Boss. 

 _“Max is breeding with the Boss, and Ace ain’t?”_ Taggy suggested.  

This earned him a smack round the head from Dek. 

“We don’t say ‘breeding’ anymore! The Women get mad when you call them breeders.” 

“What the fuk _should_ I call it then?” Taggy retaliated by punching Dek in the gut. “Can’t say trading paint. Dun’t neither of them _wear_ paint!” 

“Think there’s mebbe a difference between saying ‘breeding’ and callin’ someone a breeder” Caleb mused. “Folks gotta breed, ‘else we’d run out of people. But you don’t want it to be _all_ you do. You’d probably get bored. ‘Specially if you didn’t _want_ the job in the first place.” 

“Is it a _thing_ thing?” suggested Taggy.

That settled the question. None of them wanted to miss out on their tiny bit of Immortanness by treating people as _things_. Even by accident. 

“ _Anyway_ …that’s one difference. What else is there?” 

“Max didn’t much like Joe, that’s pretty clear. Kept tryin’ to escape.” Dek offered. “Crazy feral, I heard. Maybe that’s the difference? Ace is _civilised._ One of us.” 

“Well, he _was_ gettin’ used as a Blood Bag. Don’t think I’d be keen on that either.” Taggy folded his arms and looked scornful. 

“Even if Immortan told you to? Hisself?” 

“Wasn’t too Immortan when he got back to the Citadel, was he?” Taggy made a face. He’d missed the spectacle himself, but he’d heard stories. And the stain on the ground was still there. 

“Yeah, but would _you_ have tried to escape if you were a Blood Bag? If you were _my_ Blood Bag? Caleb’s? _Ace’s?_ ” 

“That’s different. I’d give _you lot_ my blood if you needed it…” 

“Hmph...well, what about Phobos? Deimos? Would you give it _them_?” 

“Would I fuck… _Those_ bastards?” 

“Yeah, but…If you _had to_ , though? What if you tried to get away, and they grabbed you, and…?” Dek tailed off. Even _he_ had an imagination. 

Taggy felt a little queasy at the thought of it. No wonder they looked for _volunteers_ these days. _No more things_. 

 _Okay. Breeding the Boss. Didn’t follow Joe. Two differences. Not a lot, really._  

They were beginning to yawn.  

“Fuck it, we’ll figure it out another time …” 

As Caleb dropped off to sleep, it occurred to him that it was just a word anyway. _Man, Boy_ …they might be different, or they might be just the same… 

* 

But _anyway_ …whenever the things you've been used to are all broken up, even if it's to make things better, it can be difficult. You have to make an effort to _build_. 

Which was why Caleb had set himself the task of finding a new Doof Warrior.  

He was an Imperator's second now. Ace was the _de facto_ Imperator these days, though he refused to wear the scarf. And Ace was doing his damndest to bind the whole Citadel together: the Boys, the Women, the People.  

It was kind of exciting. They needed their new world to be as strong as it could be. 

* 

Toots looks glum these days. Dag has banished him from the gardens.  

"Too many kids!" she grumbled when Capable asked her why. "Toots is like the Pied Piper. I let him help out, but he's more interested in dancing around to the music. That was fine for a while…the plants liked it. But then he tells his friends and every day more and more kids arrive. It's like having a plague of rabbits." 

Bereft of his beloved music box, Toots attempts to find a remedy for his troubles. He declared he's starting a band with his main crony, Scratch. They'll just have to make their own music, that's all.  

They're stuck for a name. They're just 'Toots and Scratch'. That's fine, but seems to lack a certain something. 

There is a loose collective of additional band members, all equally banished from the gardens, but less single-mindedly devoted to the cause. Unofficially, they're known as 'The Upsetters' because of the effect they have on Dag. 

Toots is the musical director and vocalist of the outfit, while Scratch supplies the technical expertise.  

Scratch has grand plans about thwarting Dag's tyranny by building their own music box. But that won't be any good without getting hold of some records. 

So, in the meantime, they'll have to settle for trying to recreate what they've heard.  

They get a hold of some drums and attempt to fashion a hollow box with a long neck to which they could attach some metal wires. It would need a lot of work, but they learned though trial and error that the wires made different twanging sounds if they were different thicknesses and were _just tight enough_.  

The racket they made was pretty deplorable but, with the addition of simple percussion like shakers and bottles of water, the effect was _almost_ listenable.  

After a while, Capable took pity on them and let Toots try to play his favourite songs by ear on her piano. He was a quick learner. 

* 

Capable had been practising too. Whenever she had a moment’s respite from helping run this now-beloved crazy house, she escaped to the Dome. Funny how she didn't loathe the place now she wasn't a prisoner.  

The Dome was open to everyone now, a library, sometimes a music room, sometimes a place of quiet. The Boys didn't really think to go there though. Not ‘til the little guy took an interest in Capable’s piano. Now they would often come in to see what was happening. The drummer Boys from the Doof Wagon, the ones that survived, were particularly keen. 

She didn't mind an audience. It was kind of nice to know she was playing to the whole world, in a manner of speaking. Now that the door was off its hinges forever. 

She played to forget the Boy she missed. And she played before an audience of those like him. Though not like him, not really. He was something special, that she'd never find again. It was all pretty messed up, but right nonetheless. 

So she played. 

Giddy had a few books of piano music. Capable had started with ‘Tunes for Ten Fingers’ not long after arriving in the Vault.  

She knew she was being trained to entertain her captor. She should have resisted it, but there was something in the music that held her captive in ways that than Joe ever could. She was playing for herself, maybe for her sisters and for Giddy, but ultimately to express something she hadn't previously known she had in herself.  

Once she'd mastered the simple child's tunes, she thought she could handle anything. But, it was something of a challenge to graduate to the more intermediate of Giddy’s music. She almost gave up in despair, but Capable was nothing if not persistent in the face of discouragement. She would persist, because she knew she could, deep down. She had to live up to the name she'd been given, otherwise what would she have left? 

It was a day of celebration when she felt ready to pick up the ‘Simply Brubeck’. Giddy said that, if she could carry _this_ off, she would ‘bring the house down‘. Capable didn't know precisely what that would entail, but she had a feeling that the day she could play this music perfectly, that day she would be truly free. 

* 

Caleb likes to listen to the kid sing. _He’s_ got a voice like an ill-tempered vulture, but he appreciates it being done well by others. Singing wasn’t a common talent among the War Boys. Couldn’t really sing along to Coma’s brand of melody, at least the kind that was for public ears. He’d heard him play in private, once and once only, and that was through two heavy doors. That was the first time Caleb tried and failed to croak out a tune.  

But it was real nice to just listen. And the music itself had rhythm. They’d come a long way. 

Sometimes he shuffled around the floor… _Bob, bob, bob…_ when nobody was paying attention. Then he’d throw in a few elbow moves when the tempo demanded it. _Tempo_ …the kid taught him that word. Sounds like a noise a drum would make if you just…tapped it. 

And then one day he heard it, holy V8…a _moon_ song…and his imagination caught fire. And it told you _how_ to dance, which was really helpful. 

 _Do the moon hop…mix it with the kangaroo...jump_  

He nagged them to play it so often that the kid declared that Caleb was _banished_. Big word for a little pup.  

But Capable had told him off…the Dome was for everyone and, besides, _they’d_ all been banished from the gardens and that hadn’t been very nice, had it…? 

Caleb also remarked that it’s not easy to banish someone who’s two feet taller than you.  

“Unless you’re Furiosa…” he added, after a moment’s thought. “Saw her floor Rictus plenty times…” 

“I’d like to have seen that…” Capable muttered, darkly. She gave Caleb a grin. 

“Who’s Rictus?” asked Toots, wide-eyed. 

“A _giant_ ” Capable nodded at him. “He’s dead now, though…” 

“’Cos Mother Fury killed’im?” Toots’ jaw dropped. 

“No. It was Nux.” Capable cleared her throat. “Nux took him out.” 

“Not little Nux, ‘cos he’s too little. You mean _Nux_ Nux?” Toots jiggled excitedly and nudged Scratch in the ribs as his pal retuned the twang box.  

“I’ve heard about him. He’s so chrome! Is that why you named your baby after him?” 

Caleb glanced in concern at Capable’s stony face. _You want me to take him away?_ his expression asked. She shook her head. 

Capable put her arm round Toots’ skinny shoulder and sat him down. “I’ll tell you about him…well, he was little Nux’s _dad_ , you know, and…” 

Caleb left them to it. 

* 

That night in his bunk, Caleb had that same old dream, and woke up laughing.  

Ever since he was a pup, he’d dreamt of leading an expedition to the moon. It was always a little bit different…sometimes they’d build a huge ladder and all climb it one by one. Ace would be at the bottom, holding it steady. 

When he got his first grease, he dreamt of converting all the vehicles in the fleet into flying machines to take them there.  

This was the first time it had featured a song and dance routine.  

“You alright there, lad?” Ace’s gruff voice rumbling up from the bunk below had an mistakable hint of amusement to it. “Havin’ daft dreams again, eh?” 

Ace might be Imperator these days, but he refused a room of his own. He’d stick with his lads ‘til the end, he always said. 

Caleb swung his gangly frame over the edge of his bunk and into Ace’s. 

“Can I ask you something?” he asked the older man, abruptly.  

That was Caleb all over. Serious and earnest to the core but, right out of the blue, he’d break out into a laugh that’d catch Ace’s attention, even to bring him out of deep sleep.  

“Sure, whassup?” asked Ace, sleepily. 

Caleb proceeded to tell Ace the idea that’d been nagging at him for weeks. How they all missed the Doof and did Ace think it’d be a good idea to appoint a new one…? He told of the Dome and Capable’s piano and the Upsetters and the band that the People were putting together under the stealthy patronage of Toast. So there were plenty of candidates…and… 

Caleb faltered here. In the dark, Ace could feel the heat radiating from the young man’s face. _Was he blushing?_  

“Ace…do you think I could…write a song…?” he managed. 

Ace almost laughed in his surprise, but stopped himself. He’d rather stick pins in his lumps than hurt Caleb’s feelings when he was confiding in him. 

“Well, _yeah_ …” 

“’Cos I think I’ve been _inspired.”_  

“Do it.” 

“I will!” 

That settled, they nestled down to sleep, squeezed into Ace’s narrow bunk. Just before he drifted off, Ace thought how much harder it’d have been to forgive Furiosa if Caleb had been lost... 

* 

Toast’s latest hobby was smuggling sonorous objects out of the Citadel without being caught by their erstwhile owners. 

She called it ‘training’. After all, someday she might become a Road Warrior like Furi and Max. Scavenging was a useful life skill. 

But the objective of this magpie activity was to gather musical _…things_ …for the band of motley land-dwellers she’d befriended.  

* 

It was early in the evening, just about supper time… 

…and the People were leaving their ramshackle huts now that the heat of the day had subsided to comfortable levels. It was the best time of day to catch up with your neighbours and chew the fat. They didn’t have any fat to chew, but that was besides the point. 

Toast wandered among them, head covered with a light shawl, toothpick between her lips as usual…she heard a rhythmic tapping. Nothing remarkable there, probably just an artisan at work. But then a faint tooting, buzzing sound crept in, complementing the tapping rhythm. Toast idly looked around… 

It was coming from ‘the Courthouse’, where the elders dispensed their wisdom on disagreements…four kids were gathered on the corner.  

A boy with bright red hair was busy scraping out a rhythm using a rusty spike and a mesh grille. Another, the one who’d been making that curiously tuneful buzzing noise, was shuffling around in the dust in time to the rhythm. The other two had no instruments but made do with clapping and stomping their feet in time. 

People stood nearby, watching the scene. Some were tapping their feet, others grinning.  

Toast was entranced. She had no idea the People made music...? And dancing…? Presumably that was a luxury that came from having greater access to water. She felt a glow at the thought that their having taken Joe down might have led to _this_ , among everything else. 

People were even dropping small objects, pieces of food even, into a bent hubcap. As _payment_ for music? 

She whooped and clapped along with the rest when they were done, then went up to talk to them. She _had_ to know who they were. 

The dancing one introduced them all.  

"I'm Willy, this 'un here's Rooster" he waved at the ginger boy. "And this is Blinky and Poorboy." 

Toast nodded to them all, taking them in at a glance. Blinky was particularly distinctive, not having any eyes to speak of. Rooster had a combination of particularly long pointed nose and barely any chin. The People seemed to have a knack of finding cruelly apt names for their kids, it seemed. Poorboy appeared to be built along more standard lines, as did Willy. However, Toast's keen eye distinguished more than a hint of 'female' about the latter, despite the cropped head and masculine bearing. She guessed that the Citadel wasn't the only place where it didn't pay to be a girl. Interesting... 

* 

Toast was lost in thought that night. Would the band let her help them? They had lots more resources within the Citadel and, although they did great things with what they had, she could probably get hold of more instruments. Those kids, now...Toots and Scratch...they'd been building all kinds of things these last few months. They wouldn't miss a few bits and pieces... 

And what about music? She remembered that song that Giddy had taught them, just before they made their escape...Capable wrote down the words and the music somewhere... 

So Toast gathered up as many scraps of paper to blow on, broken washboards and tin cans she could amass. This earned her such an approving look from Willy that she was in a glow for days. 

Eventually she succumbed to actual thievery and swiped Toots' twang-box. She wasn't so good at scavenging yet, though, since Toots saw her take it and followed her. He didn't mind much...he knew how to make them pretty quickly now and, besides, music should be spread around. Toots often joined them on the ground and tried to teach Blinky and Poorboy the twang-box, which ended up being a mutually beneficial exercise. 

And when a much-improved version went into circulation, he felt that he'd been rewarded. The Poor Boys never did tell him what they made the new strings out of, but they really _sang_. Gut bass, they called it. He didn't ask. 

* 

Caleb sat in the shade, musing over who should be the new Doof Warrior…the Skinhead Reggae Boys, Capable’s Piano Jam, or Toast and the Poor Folks? It doesn’t help that none of them can seem to stick to the same name for more than two days together… 

Maybe they could just take turns…? Have some kind of event where everyone can have a go…they could give it a name… 

He starts as a voice yells from the Lookout… 

 _“Incoming!!!”_  

 _“Who? Furi and Max???”_ Toast bellows back.  

It always amazes Caleb that someone so small can shout _so loud._  

 _“Unknown vehicle!”_  

_“Alright, saddle up!!!”_

**Author's Note:**

> Who do YOU think should be the new Doof Warrior? Here are the three front-runners, with representative tunes from each...
> 
> A) Toots’ cute kid reggae collective?  
> http://www.bobmarley.com/media/videos/music-videos/three-little-birds/ 
> 
> B) Capable’s jazz piano ensemble?  
> https://youtu.be/_yExwkQYcp0 
> 
> C) Willy and The Poor Boys’ street corner buskers?  
> https://youtu.be/vrMvblpZFq0 
> 
> ...Or the wild card, Caleb?  
> Bez to Toots’ Shaun Ryder. Just bopping about in the background, possibly with homemade maracas.  
> The song he’s writing is ‘Skinhead Moonstomp’ by Symarip. He knows he not a singer, but he can definitely shout and order people around…  
> https://youtu.be/xHDBn7TL4JM (Gosh there are an awful lot of comments to this YouTube video, all pretty interesting. My conclusion is…1960s skinheads = a reggae-loving subculture, an alternative to mods and rockers; 1980s skinheads = white supremacy wankers who ruined it for everyone)  
> It's a rehash of ‘Moonhop’ by Derrick Morgan  
> https://youtu.be/6DlvK8WoMHE  
> *  
> Phobos and Deimos are two moons of Mars. These were the two Imperators orbiting round Joe when he was giving the Rig its send-off speech.  
> *  
> If you like stargazing War Boys, check out Zagzagael's 'Things Like That Drive Me Out of My Mind'  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/4220244


End file.
